✨A WATTYS 2022 PARANORMAL & "BEST CHARACTERS" WINNER✨
A college basketball star risks everything to prove his innocence with a girl who can communicate with ghosts.
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Ace Jones isn't certain about a lot of things in life, but basketball has always...
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THIRTY MINUTES later I pull up to a southwestern style home on College Ave—the home of Nathan O'Donnell, the son of the valley's most advertised real estate couple. This is only one of his family's properties and it's safe to assume Nate hosts the sickest parties, or so I've heard. But even though this infamous party house is now padlocked and marked by police, it doesn't stop me from unsnapping my seatbelt and wandering to the side entrance to peer inside. There's got to be a way to break in without triggering alarms.
"It's difficult to make anything out from here. I think this is a laundry room," I say, cupping the window so I can see better. Peewee says nothing, so I add, "Let's try the back."
"Sure," she replies. "But first, I need you to confess something."
I stop looking into the window. "Confess what?"
"Your parents were talking about how you never came home last night. I assume that means you were with Ace?" She wiggles her eyebrows.
Heat rushes to my head. And this is the last place I feel like discussing my romantic life with a ghost. "Nothing happened," I lie. "Now will you please concentrate? We have to find a way in."
Peewee grunts. "Aw man. I was really hoping you'd make a move on him, Devy. C'mon, what stopped you?"
"Hm, maybe it's because his life is on the line and time is running out?"
Peewee's smile deadpans. "You're a total buzzkill, you know that?"
I smile with sarcasm. "Yep."
"No wonder you have no living friends."
"Ouch, bitch."
Peewee snorts before adding, "Kidding. Sort of."
I give her a look and she flashes an innocent smile until her face becomes full of dread. "Shit."
"What?" I spin around, hearing voices coming our way. I duck behind the garbage cans, thankful the weeds are up to my knees.
The voices get closer.
Peewee steps out, shaking her head. "Mhm. Just as I suspected. I knew I recognized their voices."
"Who is it?" I whisper.
She steps out of the way just as two people cross by the front house. They're walking in tandem with backpacks, which means they must be coming from the university.
"It's Ben and Marley," Peewee says with indignation. "They spoke at my vigil."
Their familiarity immediately hits. I dare to get a little closer right after they pass me by, unbeknownst to them. Ben has that awful cowlick but fitted jeans and polo—basically a Ralph Lauren model. Marley dons a soft blue dress, brunette hair flipped to one side.
"Are you serious?" Marley pats Ben on the shoulder. "She's dead. Like what more do they need to know?"
